


I’m Here Without You

by ArwenaminMaeleth



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Hiddleston - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, tom - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Emotional, Gen, Loss, Love, Major character death - Freeform, Other, gender neutral oc - Freeform, loss of a loved one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 09:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17865110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenaminMaeleth/pseuds/ArwenaminMaeleth
Summary: Inspired by the film P.S I Love You, the OC writes a letter to the love they lost, letting them know how they are coping after their death.





	I’m Here Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the film P.S I Love You, the OC writes a letter to the love they lost, letting them know how they are coping after their death.
> 
> I do not own Tom in any way, shape, or form. I write purely for pleasure and mostly to feed my need for angst. I do not make any money off of this, whatsoever!
> 
> Happy reading :) xx

My Darling, My Tom.

Mum came over today, forced me out of bed and made me have a shower. Of course, I put up a fight. I didn’t want to leave the bed. Your scent was still on the pillow. It’s fading, but it’s still there. So yeah, she made me shower, put on some clothes and she opened the curtains. It was sunny, that I can remember because the brightness burnt my eyes, I’ve been so used to the dark.

“You have to stop wallowing and finally face the day.” Mum reprimanded in the gentlest way possible. I guess she’s still worried about being too harsh, not wanting to set me off crying again. I’ve just stopped. I’ve only just managed to keep myself under control and cry only when night falls and I am once again reminded that you are no longer here.

I did as I was told, and I faced the day. I went out with mum and did some shopping. The cupboards are bare. Apart from the moulding bread in the bread bin and some out of date meat in the fridge, I don’t think there is anything else other than an endless supply of coffee and wine in the house. I’ve got to eat something more substantial and alcoholic grape juice doesn’t count apparently. She said I’ve lost too much weight and it’s worrying.

I’m fine. Honest.

I just miss you.

After restocking the cupboards and helping me clean up a bit, mum left me to it. It was lovely to see her again, to get out and feel the breeze on my cheeks again, but now I am happy to be home. Where you are. I know I shouldn’t but sometimes I think you are still here with me. I can feel the warmth of your presence whenever I’m alone. The smell of your shower gel follows me, wherever I go in the house.

How I wish you would just hold me again, wrapped up warm in that big grey cardigan of yours, the one that was always doused in your favourite body spray. I want to be able to nuzzle in to your chest and just inhale the smell of you whilst your arms are wrapped around me, holding me close.  
If you are here, and you are watching me, know that I am okay. I’m grieving but I’m okay. So please, my darling, don’t worry.

I found our photo albums today too, whilst mum was helping me clean. I didn’t tell her. I stashed them under the bed until she left. Weird, I know. Why would I hide something like that from her? I can just hear it now.

  
“Don’t. Don’t even think about opening those yet.” She’ll warn me. She doesn’t think I am ready to go through them and look at all the photos of our life together. She is right though. I’m not ready, but I’m lonely and right now, these photos spread out all over the bed, are giving me a small sense of comfort. It’s almost as if I can just pick up one or two and bring myself back to the time that it was taken. That way I get to be with you again.

This one makes me laugh the most. The one where you fell over in to a great big puddle of mud on one of our country walks. You were covered, head to toe, in mud. I don’t know how you managed it, but you got it in your hair too. Messy bugger, but cute, very cute.  
I hold the picture in my hand and stare at it, hoping that if I stare at it for long enough you will magically appear again. My eyes strain until the lines of your face become a blur. Nothing. I bring the photo close to my chest, holding you over my heart and once again I feel the tears start.

Why did you have to go? Why did you leave me here?  
You promised me forever.

It’s so lonely here without you. This house is far too big for just me alone. I will move, I know I will, just not yet. I’m not ready. When I leave I know I will be leaving our life behind and that I will have to start a new one. A life without you in it.

I’m not ready to leave the home we built together. The books. All the books you collected over the years, some still stacked up in random places amongst the Livingroom, the rest crammed on the shelves. Your current read left open, face down, as if it’s waiting for you to pick it up again, on the arm of the sofa. You were a nightmare for that. Your books scattered everywhere. Pencils! Don’t even get me started on pencils. The amount of times I ended up sitting on one because you had left it there after making some notes.  
What I’d give to keep finding them, to be able to tell you off once again for letting them fall down the cracks of the cushions.

With the photos still scattered all over the bed, I lie down, holding my favourite one to my chest still. I’m wearing your cardigan again. It’s so warm and even though the smell of you has gone from it, I can imagine it still.

Wrapping it around my body, I snuggle under the covers and pull out my phone. It’s my nightly ritual, calling your phone, just so I can hear your voice again. Placing it on loud speaker, I call you time and time again to hear you speak to the caller, with your silly little message.

“Hello?” You made it sound as if you had answered. How many times I fell for that!

“Only messing! I’m unable to take your call right now but leave me a message and I will do my best to get back to you.” I waited for the beep.

“I miss you. Come home.” I say, even though I know it’s stupid. Sometimes I imagine that you’ve got your phone with you and that one day you’re going to answer and speak to me from the beyond. I imagine your smooth, calming voice tell me that I’m going to be okay, that you’ll always keep me safe. I hear you tell me you love me.

I love you too. Always.

Every night since the day you left me, the day that tore my world apart, I’ve left you a message. It’s been two or three months now – I think – I’ve lost track. Sorry. The messages are getting shorter, so if you are listening to them, you won’t have to hear me babble on for too long as you get to the newer ones. I’m getting better.  
I guess I better get some sleep now. As well as making me face the day, mum reminded me that my time away from work, time given to me to grieve, is coming to an end. I’m not ready, darling. I can’t face it.

I don’t want to listen to people say they are sorry, to see the sad look on their faces as they pray for me or send me their deepest wishes. I can’t bare to be constantly reminded that I have lost you. It’s just not fair. Most of all, I don’t want to have to pretend to smile, to pretend that I am okay. I mean, I know I said I was getting better but not enough to smile. Not a real one anyway.

I’m getting tired now. Will you come and cuddle me? Please? Even if it’s just to give me the warmth without your arms being around me. Let me know you are still here and that you’re watching over me. Please.

Come back to me? Even if it’s just for one last kiss. I would give anything for just one more minute with you.

I’m sorry. I’ll stop now.

I promise I will be stronger. I know I will be, but not yet.

Anyway, I hope you are at rest, wherever you are, my love. Know that no matter what happens, I love you. I always have, and I always will.

Goodnight, My darling.

Your snuggle bug and bookworm.


End file.
